Losing Teeth
by Mattycollns13
Summary: Sequel to Would You Still Be There. The Draft has arrived. No one is prepared.


They hadn't really talked about it, maybe that's why this tightening of her gut was just so painful. She couldn't think about anything, not Battleground on Sunday, and certainly not Natalya. It was Draft Night and not only would this have implications for her and when she'd get her next title shot, but there was a very real possibility that she could be separated from her friends. Sasha and her had just teamed up not too long ago, and had reestablished themselves as people who respected and liked each other most of the time. Finn had a real possibility of getting called up tonight and could go anywhere. The thought of being reunited with her mentor was extremely tempting, but she knew it might not work out that way. And then there was Dean.

She knew he would be one of the top draft picks by one of the brands, and she was happy for him, but she knew that this could be the last night where they could hang out backstage before Summerslam when the rosters would be together again. It hadn't hit her in the days leading up to it because she had to deal with Natalya and actually having fun with Dean as the champion. She'd sat in on so many interviews and photo shoots with him while making goofy faces trying to get him to mess up. She'd never had this much fun before. All that could be coming to an end tonight.

She watched the monitor with sweaty hands, frantically trying to wipe it away so that she wouldn't show how nervous she was. Not only from being split up from the people she cared about, but also because she might not have a title to fight for if her and Charlotte got separated.

She watched the first round, and like she thought, friends went to opposite brands. Her title that she wanted, needed more than anything, was on RAW. Her mentor, whom she only saw every couple of months when she was back in Orlando at her apartment, also went to RAW. And, without shock, Dean went second to Smackdown.

Her heart rate skyrocketed even more. She knew Dean was probably preparing for his match or giving an interview, but being alone in their dressing room was really not doing a whole lot for her mental health. She tried to breathe in and out without much success, she felt like her chest was collapsing. She didn't know where she was going, if she would even have any of her friends there. How would she and Dean keep up with each other like they had been for these many months if they were on separate brands? It all was racing past her mind too fast. So fast, in fact, that she didn't hear the door open and close.

"Irish, you look like you're about to throw up." She jumped and put her hand to her chest. He gave her an apologetic smile and adjusted his title belt on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm just worried." She bit her lip and kept her eyes on the television that was showing a recording of Dean's interview.

"You'll be drafted high. I think you should have been drafted higher than Baby Flair, but I might be a bit biased."

She gave him a small smile, "Thanks, but that's not what I'm worried about. I'm not in high school, so I don't care when I get picked."

Dean sat down next to her and made her look at him, "Then what is it?"

"I-I don't know what I'm gonna do." She clenched her jaw and swallowed down her fear as best she could.

Dean searched her face, his eyes lighting up as he finally caught on. "Your championship is on RAW as well as Finn, but I'm on Smackdown."

She nodded; her eyes flickered to the television as they came on for the second round of drafts. She held her breath as they ran down the names. Without even realizing what she was doing she grasped Dean's hand tight. When they started off with Roman going to RAW she snapped her head towards Dean. He was bolt straight in his seat. His hand squeezing back now. He had gone a little paler, and she felt for him, her own impending draft pick still weighing heavily in her mind.

She let out that breath as RAW ended the round by choosing the New Day. She looked at Dean, "I'm sorry about Roman."

Dean shrugged, "He hasn't talked to me since the suspension. I was maybe just looking for answers, but…" he trailed of awkwardly.

Becky sighed, "Dean, I just don't want to leave you. We ride together, room together, and help each other through everything that this business has thrown at us. I don't know if I can lose that. You've helped me stay sane with Paige, Charlotte, Emma, Dana, Nattie."

He shifted his position so he was facing her, "Listen Irish, we are best friends. I want you to win that title, but a selfish piece of me wants you on Smackdown. I don't think I can find another person to ride with whose music isn't actually that bad." Becky choked out a wet laugh, "Or whose snores put me to sleep at night."

Usually she would protest this, but she wasn't feeling to up to defend herself, "But you want me to get the title."

He gave her a grim smile, "It was made for you, Becky. It belongs with you. And just because we might be apart a little more, doesn't mean you should stop chasing your dream. So maybe I'm a bit confused on where I want you to go too."

She felt tears prick at the concern in his voice, but refused to let them fall. She tried to think of something that would give her the best of both worlds,"But they could debut a new belt for us on Smackdown, or some ranking system…"

Dean nodded, "They could, and if that were the case and they had told us that, I'd be begging Daniel and Shane to draft you right now. But we don't know if they will for sure."

Becky looked up at him, her eyes pleading, "So either way…"

Dean nodded, "You'll have me. Still supporting you, and still annoying you. That's what a best friend does."

Becky leaned against him to hug him, "I know it hasn't even happened yet, but thank you."

He wrapped his arm around her, "Anytime Irish. Just think, even if you go to RAW, we'll see each other at the big pay per views. We can hang out on our days off, in Orlando or Vegas, and have slumber parties or whatever the fuck you girls call 'em."

Becky smiled, "Yeah, we could." She knew it was only a halfhearted smile and that Dean would never buy it.

"And, you can teach me how to work my contraption of a phone so we can Facetime. Every night if you want to." Dean was notoriously horrid at technology. He could text and receive phone calls, but that was about all Becky had been able to teach him so far. "And, we can twitter each other."

Becky huffed a laugh, "It's tweet each other. Wait," she looked up at him, "You don't use your twitter."

Dean rubbed the back of his head, he only did this when he was uncomfortable or nervous, "Well I figure I could stand to use it if we got separated. That's another reason I'm kinda hoping you get drafted to Smackdown. Then I won't have to use it. It's a confusing mess for me too."

Becky couldn't help it, but she laughed. It was the kind of laugh where your whole body gets into it. Her shoulders were shaking, and she could feel her stomach beginning to get sore. When she finally managed to bring herself back under control and look at her smirking friend, she smiled. "Thank you. I'm not sure if I just needed to hear you say it, but it helped. I know that no matter what I'll still have you and I'll get that title someway. Even if I have to sneak into RAW and take it."

"That's my girl. That's all I was trying to say, Irish." He kissed her forehead and nodded back to the monitor. They both stood up as the third round went by fast, with Sasha going to RAW. Becky felt a moment of panic flare through her at the thought of RAW scooping up all the female talent. She looked at Dean in fear, but he just smiled, trying to calm her, and nodded his head back towards the monitor again. She looked back and heard Daniel Bryan draft her to Smackdown, calling her the greatest women's wrestler they had. She felt pride shoot through her and grinned. She was on the same brand as Dean. She turned and jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist in happiness. He chuckled and kept them upright.

Finally when they had hugged it out enough, and the relief had left her limbs, he set her down. "You're gonna look good in blue, Irish. It may bring out my eyes, but that hair is gonna look good." He reached inside his back pocket and brought out a Smackdown shirt and presented it to her.

She looked at him in question and slowly took the shirt unfurling it. He shrugged, "Call it wishful thinking."

She couldn't wipe the dopey grin off her face.


End file.
